Costumes
by Michmak
Summary: Jayne hates the costumes River chooses, but he wears ‘em anyway. This is a standalone story, not related to my others at all.


Title: Costumes  
Author: michmak

Characters: mentions everyone, but this is River/Jayne  
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd feel much more successful in life.

Summary: _Jayne hates the costumes River chooses, but he wears 'em anyway._

A/N: This is for **meinterupted** who challenged me to write a fic with Jayne wearing a collar because of a comment I made about her story **Mine** which you all can find at **Rayne(underscore)shippers** on **LiveJournal(dot)com.**

I've decided to use it as my Halloween Challenge story as well. It has not been betaed, so all mistakes are mine. This is in no way related to my other stories, although - perhaps - in the future...it could be. _grins_

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**Costumes**

Jayne knows he is well and truly whipped when he only puts up token resistance. It is Halloween - a holiday he ain't never had much use for as an adult – but his Crazy-girl loves dressin' up. Somehow, she always gets him to as well.

Last year, she had dressed as Persephone and he had been Hades. 'A course, she had to tell him who they were, but once he'd learned that he got to be Lord of the Underworld, he din't mind too much. All he had to do was stand around and look all mean and glowery, which was somethin' he was good at anyway. He din't like the sheet she made him wear too much, but the fancy sword she'd found for him had been shiny. It also din't hurt that Crazy looked like seven types 'a sin in _her_ sheet. It had been short and she had somehow managed to wrap it around her and keep both her shoulders bare. She had put dried flowers all through her hair and Inara had helped paint designs on her skin. Crazy had said it was the Greek alphabet, not that Jayne cared. He'd enjoyed finding symbols all over her for days afterwards, though.

But this – _wo de ma!_ – she is tryin' to kill him. There weren't no way he was gonna make it through the night without blowin' a fuse. If'n he'd thought her costume _last year_ was lust-inducin'…he don't think he's gonna have the strength to make it through this gorram party. Everytime he looks at her, he goes weak in the knees. His Crazy-girl is gonna give him a gorram heart attack.

He knows what she's up to – she thinks if she dresses up in somethin' really, really sexy and hot he will wear whatever she wants. She thinks he won't be able to stay mad at her for too long if'n his man parts are thinkin' more than his brain-pan is.

Problem is she's right.

He should be spittin' mad at her. He should never 'a agreed to this, 'cause he knew how the others was gonna react. They were still teasin' him about the damn sheet-dress from last year – he was purt'near sure he'd never hear the end 'a this.

"Be nice," Crazy whispers to him when Doc and Kaylee look at him and start snickerin' again. The Captain has already asked him to go fetch him a drink several times now and Inara's made a comment about his bark bein' worse than his bite. Even Zoe's gotten in on the action, lookin' him over critically and than askin' in that deadpan way 'a hers if'n she can yank his chain.

And every time he decides he's put up with enough of this crap, his girl leans inta him and whispers in his ear, "Treats, remember?"

_Well, it ain't gonna work this time,_ he tells himself as she saunters over to him and plops herself down inta his lap, wigglin' that delectable ass 'a hers against him. He don't care she's wearin' the tightest black leather pants he's ever seen. He don't care that she's got on stiletto heels that make her legs look like they could wrap 'round his waist twice. He don't care that she's wearin' a vest that laces up the front and back, leavin' lotsa her creamy white skin peekin' through and her cleavage all shadowy and mysterious. He sure as hell don't care that her eyes are dark with kohl, or that her lips are red and juicy lookin', or that she's promised she'll wrap those lips around him later on if he'll just _be good._.

The thought of those lips and later 'cause him pain. The leather pants she has him in are bothersome and cookin' his man-bits, and they're too tight for what he's been thinkin' 'a since he first saw her in that outfit.

The leather collar she made him wear is chafing his neck, and he don't like the leash or the tag reading Rover she's got hanging off it, neither.

He's gonna tell her so, too, soon as he can make his mouth say anything other than _"Guh..." _when he looks at her.

He ain't a dog, even though she's got him dressed up like one.

Next year, _he_ gets to choose the costumes.


End file.
